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Elarian’s smile slipped for but a moment before she regained her composure. Her knees felt suddenly weak, as if she had been carrying a thousand pounds upon her back and now ached to embrace the ground. She blinked, softening her gaze beneath the gilded mask.

Play the simpering fool, Ela. It’s what he wants.

“Pardon, my prince?” Elarian asked in her sweetest tone—admittedly, not very different from her usual voice.

The edge of Lucan’s lips lifted until his right fang sparkled in the amber light. Peering closer, she saw a river of gold running its length. That planted a genuine smile on her face. She had hoped he would lose the fang, but cracking it was a start; a painful, wonderful start.

“It is a simple command for a courtesan, is it not?” Lucan’s words wrenched Elarian back to the chambers—his chambers. Goddess, what was she doing? “I said,” he began again, “on your hands and knees and crawl.”

The gasp Elarian withheld before finally loosened from her chest. The sharp sound echoed around them. Crawl—she would never fucking crawl! Not in a million years, not if her life depended on it, not if it meant her blade in his chest when she rose again. Oh, Elarian had sacrificed much and twisted every desire until it became unrecognizable, but she would never let the monster smiling before her with his cock in one hand degrade her like she was a fucking animal!

Elarian’s fingers twitched as her right hand inched closer to her concealed dagger.

Perhaps she had time. She could leap forward as she threw the dagger—surely Lucan would not evade that in time. Or perhaps she would try her luck and disappear into the rafters, descending the next moment like a leopard upon prey.

But even as she reached for her silver, and even as she spat nothing but a string of curses at Lucan in her head, she slowly relaxed.

She bent her legs…

…and her knees struck stone padded with rugs.

It all happened so fast, Elarian only registered that she was on her knees like a pathetic dog when Lucan spoke again in a low voice.

“Good. I hate asking twice.”

What the fuck was she doing?

She had dreamt of carving apart this man until his innards painted a beautiful canvas of death. In them, she slit his throat, ripped out his fangs, and clawed those mocking eyes from their sockets with her long nails. When maggots would come to finally claim his body, furiously hungry after such a long denial, she intended to watch; watch until nothing but polished bone remained.

But when only bone and fang remained—and the locket of white hair hidden at her breast—what would become of her?

Suddenly, Elarian realized she wasn’t quite ready to let Lucan go.

Fire burning in her belly, the taste of bile and hatred swirling in her mouth, Elarian slowly leaned over and placed both palms on the plush, black carpet. Its softness enveloped her senses; she had never felt anything quite as luxurious before. Her fingers curled into the thick shag. What was she doing?

“Come, pet. Don’t make me wait all evening.”

Elarian lifted her gaze to meet Lucan’s. White strands of hair curled around his crimson eyes. Oh, how soft they would feel against her…No.

No, she would not indulge such a thought.

Even if she fucking craved someone to hold her close more than even her blade in Lucan’s heart.

So instead, she began to crawl, on her hands and knees like some wretched, broken thing meant to warm the bed of their vile master. Her skin twitched with shivers. Each time Elarian raised a limb, the pool of heat gathering in her belly flared. When Lucan stroked himself, slowly rolling his ringed fingers over each golden bar, her eyes lingered.

Melistra forbade such a desire.

The moon elves were pure beings of starlight reborn. And he…he was a cursed thing, abandoned by the gods. She would twist her silver through his heart until nothing remained. Watch the maggots crawl through his flayed flesh, growing fat from his putrid corpse.

Yet…could she not do such a thing and still taste the sweetness of one of her buried hopes come to life? Could she delude herself that this was all necessary, all part of the act to get close enough to kill the Blooded Prince? It had been so long since anyone had touched her, so long since she felt the reward of numbing bliss.

So, she crawled.

Her palms embraced by softness, golden mask obscuring the assassin, Elarian arched her back as she inched closer to the vampire Lucan Valmere as if he were the air she desperately needed to live. Eyes burning with hunger—whether for her blood or her body, she could not be sure—Lucan’s gaze bewitched her. Black veins bulged over his arms and chest, the thick muscles beneath his pallid skin twitching with anticipation.

He looked as if he were some terrible god of death.

“That’s it, darling,” Lucan purred. “There’s nowhere else to go.”